


Christmas Miracle

by JoMouse



Series: Christmas in July 2019 [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas In July | Christmas Out Of Season, Christmas Tree, Don't copy to another site, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-22 19:30:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19980742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoMouse/pseuds/JoMouse
Summary: Derek and Stiles are both missing items from their past, forever lost to them.Or are they?





	Christmas Miracle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [simplyn2deep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyn2deep/gifts).



> MERRY CHRISTMAS (in July)!!!!
> 
> This is written for the [Imagine-Sterek Christmas in July](http://imagine-sterek.tumblr.com/) event. Today’s theme was Christmas Miracles. 
> 
> I was stumped for an idea and asked for help in the endnotes of yesterday's contribution. Big thanks to simpleyn2deep for the suggestion - I'm not sure it's exactly what you were talking about but your comment got the ball rolling, so massive thanks!
> 
> This is completely unbeta’d so all errors are mine, but I did try to catch them. Any outrageous grammar errors, please let me know!
> 
> Xx-Joey
> 
> Don’t know ‘em. Don’t own ‘em. Don’t show ‘em.

Derek pulled himself up with ease, resting his chin on the bar before dropping down and repeating the motion. The morning had come too quickly after a late night “celebrating” his and Stiles’ engagement. Leaving his fiance’s arms had been more difficult than normal. Derek was still surprised by how much the word thrilled him, not having expected it since the rite of marriage was a human tradition and his mating instinct should have been satisfied with just the bite.

He’d told Peter as much when he’d called to congratulate them on their engagement, something he shouldn’t even have known about since they hadn’t told anyone yet. In fact, the only person who knew he’d even been thinking about it was Stiles’ father because Derek had done the proper thing and asked for his hand, ducking when the Sheriff cuffed him upside the head and reminded him they were already werewolf wed, but then pulling him into a hug and giving his blessing.

“Your parents were married,” Peter had told him when Derek had finished sharing his confusion about the feelings he was having. He’d never remembered them discussing a wedding or celebrating an anniversary other than that of their mating bites and he gladly blocked the memories of those days; no one wanted to think about their parents having sex. “It was a small ceremony and reception. There were pictures, a lot of pictures, that they kept in this beautiful wooden box my father had carved.”

Derek’s heart pinches as he imagined the box of memories going up in the fire along with his family, but before he could comment, Peter continued talking. “I got in a fight with Talia one day because Laura was sick and Talia had cancelled plans with me to take care of her.” Derek smiled slightly; Peter’s jealousy over baby Laura was legendary among their family. “I stole the box and threw it into a dumpster at the high school.”

“Peter,” Derek gasped, the cruelty of the action fitting for the man he’d been since the fire, but as a teenager, he’d been so much kinder than that.

“Trust me, nephew, I know. I’ve regretted it every day since, even more so since the fire,” he responded, the words as close to an apology that he would ever give and Derek had to accept it.

They’d hung up shortly after that, Derek’s mind on the box, imagining it in some landfill somewhere, rotting away unappreciated despite the memories and meaning that it held within it. His mood didn’t improve much by the time Stiles stumbled down the stairs, hair mussed big smile on his face fading when Derek barely grunted in acknowledgement of his excited, “Good morning, my beloved fiance/mate!”

Instead of opening his mouth and risking inserting his foot or allowing his sour mood to spread to Stiles, he opened his arms and held him tight, inhaling his scent soured by his concern for Derek. “I love you,” you said.

“I know,” Stiles replied. “And that wasn’t me Han Soloing you, I just thought you needed to know that I know that you love me. I love you, too, you know?”

By the end of the ramble, Derek was laughing slightly and threw Stiles over his shoulder, carrying him up the stairs to the living room, dropping him on the couch and falling on top of him. He pulled the afghan from the back of the couch overtop them, and cuddled into Stiles, his fingers running over the stitches of the blanket thoughtfully. “Your mom made this?” he asked.

Stiles nodded. “Before she got sick. She used to make them all the time for everyone, any time a baby was born or someone was sick, she’d knit a blanket.” Derek pressed his face into the blanket, inhaling the mix of their scents. “Looking back, I wonder if she knew she was sick and that’s why she did it.”

Stretching his neck, he pressed a gentle kiss to Stiles' cheek right where a single tear had escaped his eyes. “She was always making things.” His eyes glanced over Derek’s shoulder. “How come you never asked why I refused to put a topper on the tree?”

Turning in Stiles’ arms, he leaned back against his chest and stared up at the bare branch sticking up from the center of the tree, thinking back over the moment when Derek had tried to put the silver star he’d purchased on top and Stiles had knocked it out of his hand. He hadn’t given an explanation, just said, “Please don’t put it up.”

“I figured you had a good reason,” Derek said with a shrug. “You never push me to talk about things that are tough and I could tell that was something tough for you.” Stiles’ patience wasn’t something a lot of people appreciated, mostly because a lot of people didn't see it, but it was one of the reasons he fell so hard for the man. 

“For as long as I can remember, the top of our tree held this really ugly glass tree topper. My mother had made it in a glass-blowing class she’d taken with my dad on their honeymoon,” Stiles explained, his eyes far away with memory while Derek tried to imagine the Sheriff blowing glass. “It had two bubbles and then a pointy top, but everything was lopsided. It sat on the tree pretty well though because the base was too wide and the glass was thick and relatively sturdy compared to most items like it.” He chewed his fingers. “My mom had painted red and green stars with gold curls on the bubbles.” He chuckled. “It was ugly, but she  _ loved _ it so, of course, we loved it.”

“I know what you mean,” Derek replied softly. “We had one of those plaster ornament kits as kids. Cora’s Rudolph looked like the victim of a massacre, more red than brown, but she was so proud because she’d painted it herself. It always held a place of honor on our tree.”

“Exactly,” Stiles said, smiling. “That topper was the most important part of decorating the tree. We always made a big production of it. I’d get up on my dad’s shoulders and mom would take it out of the box and hand it to him to hand to me to put on the branch.” Tears were filling Stiles’ eyes. “One Christmas, mom was in the hospital but told us to make sure to decorate. My dad was too...stressed to help.” Derek knew Stiles meant to too drunk and had a sinking feeling where this story was going.

The silence went on as the tears increased and Stiles breaths were choked. Derek moved them around so that they were sitting up, Stiles curled in his lap, face pressed into his neck, nonsense sounds whispered into his ear. Eventually, his breath slowed and he started to talk again, although his words were still stilted and thick with tears.

“I just wanted to make everyone happy, so I got the tree up and all the decorations on it.” He swallowed. “I went in to get my dad, but he was...sleeping.” Derek ran his hand over Stiles’ back to let him know he understood what he really meant. “So, I dragged one of the kitchen chairs over to the tree and picked the box up.” He swallowed hard, starting to sob again. “I almost had it, but I was just a little bit too short. It slipped from my fingers and slid down the branches before hitting the floor.”

He shoved out of Derek’s lap and started to pace, shaking his hands at his side, breathing heavy. Derek wanted to jump up and pull him close again, but he knew Stiles had hit the point where touching him would just make the panic attack worse. “It broke. Right between the two bubbles.” He stopped moving and dropped to the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face between them. 

“Stiles, you were eight years old. You didn’t mean it,” Derek said, moving to the floor, but keeping his distance, wishing not for the first time that he could pull panic as easily as pain. 

“Don't you get it!” Stiles shouted into his legs. “That was the first Christmas  _ ever _ in my life that it wasn’t on the tree and she died! She never got to see another one.”

Derek’s heart broke, his own tears starting to fall at how small his mate sounded. He knew, without any doubt, that Stiles didn’t really believe that his mother had died simply because he had broken a Christmas decoration, but he also knew how it felt to carry blame and finding any excuse to prove you were at fault for something that absolutely wasn’t your fault. “What did your father say?” Derek asked, trying to distract Stiles, hoping that in the Sheriff’s drunken and overly emotional state he hadn’t agreed with young Stiles’ emotional mess.

“He just cleaned up the pieces and never spoke of it again,” Stiles told him. “He probably doesn’t even remember.” The last was half-hearted and Derek finally reached out to hug him, relieved when he relaxed against him.

They sat like that for several moments, Stiles’ pulse slowing and his breathing evening out until he was on the verge of sleep. “C’mon, Stiles, I’m gonna take you back to bed. Let you sleep.”

Stiles didn’t have any objections so Derek carried him up the stairs, tucking him in and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m going to run into town and get some groceries. Dinner the other night emptied us out.”

Stiles nodded sleepily. “Love you,” he mumbled, reaching out and squeezing Derek’s hand before drifting off to sleep.

Pulling his hand free, Derek made sure Stiles’ cell phone was plugged into the charger on the nightstand before dressing and leaving the house. He was in the car before picking up his own cell and calling the sheriff. “Good morning, Derek,” John answered. “Everything alright?”

Derek smiled at the controlled worry in the man’s voice. “Nothing too serious, sir. Been a bit of an emotional couple of days.”

“Fairy Christmas catching up with you?” he asked. “Anything I can do?”

Derek swallowed, his nerves kicking in and he wiped his palms against his jeans before reaching out and starting the car. “Do you remember what happened to the tree topper?” The direct approach always seemed to be best when dealing with the sheriff.

“Stiles told you about that?” he asked, his voice stunned and Derek made a sound of acknowledgement. “Well, after it broke, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. It’s in a box with a bunch of Claudia’s stuff in the attic, last I remembered.”

“Are you home now? Can I come by and get it. I have an idea how to fix it,” Derek said, voice careful as he started to drive towards town, trying to keep his speed down when John said he’d be leaving for work soon but he could pick up the box because he thought Stiles should have it anyway.

The sheriff was in uniform and waiting in the doorway, a box at his feet. “Thank you,” Derek said, greeting him with a hug, smiling when John’s hug was a bit stronger than normal. When it broke, he pretended not to see the tears in John’s eyes. “I gave him the ring last night,” Derek told him, a smile breaking across John’s face. 

“A bit sooner than you’d planned,” he teased before turning thoughtful. “Although, you did say Christmas.” They shared a laugh and then he looked at his watch. “Gotta go.”

Derek grabbed the box and carried it to the car, waving as the sheriff pulled out of the driveway to head to work. Setting the box in the car, he headed to the garage; his mind on the torch they used to bend metal; he just hoped his plan worked.

A few hours later, Derek pulled up in front of the house, smiling at Stiles who was sitting on the porch swing wrapped in blankets with a mug in his hands. Carrying the box carefully up the stairs, he walked past Stiles into the house and put it in the living room, unsurprised when Stiles’ curiosity got the best of him and he followed.

“What’s in the box?” he asked, poking at the flaps as Derek opened it and pulled out the box on top. 

Stiles’ eyes widened and he reached out with trembling fingers to run over the glittery snowflakes on the top. “Is this?” he asked, looking up at Derek. 

Nodding, Derek pulled the lid off carefully to reveal the glass tree topper. He’d worked for an hour with the propane torch and managed to make the piece stable, if not beautiful, but he’d tried. He chewed his lip, at a loss to identify the expression on Stiles’ face just before it crumbled into ugly sobs. “Shit. I fucked up. I’m sorry...I’m so sorry,” Derek said, moving to put the box down, but Stiles stopped him.

“No. No...it’s perfect. You’re perfect,” Stiles said, trying to take the box but his hands were still trembling too hard.

“C’mon,” Derek whispered, moving toward the tree and setting the box down on the side table next to it before squatting down and tapping his shoulders. “Climb on.”

“Derek,” Stiles gasped out wetly.

“We gotta do it right,” Derek said, smiling when Stiles draped his legs over his shoulders. Grabbing his knees, Derek stood slowly. Reaching to the side, he picked up the topper and handed up to Stiles who was still looking nervous, but after taking a deep breath, he took the topper and held it out towards the tree.

Derek moved closer, inch by inch, until Stiles could fit the topper over the branch, both of them holding their breath as he released it and the topper settled more firmly. Stiles raised his hands in triumph and Derek spun in a circle away from the tree, spine tingling from the gale of laughter his mate lets out. He dumps Stiles carefully on the couch and falls next to him, stealing a kiss and another and another until they have to stop for breath.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Stiles said, smiling. “Where was it?”

Derek indicated the box near Stiles’ feet. “It as in that box at your dad’s. He gave me the whole box, said it should be yours. It’s all stuff that belonged to your mom.”

Stiles sat up, reaching for the box and pulling it closer, digging into it. “I wonder what else is in here.” He pulled out a folded bundle and when he unrolled it, there were two balls of yarn and knitting needles attached to the unfinished blanket. “Man, I wish I could knit,” Stiles said, running his fingers over the stitches still on the needles.

Derek tilted his head and reached out. “It’s a simple stockingette stitch. I could try to finish it, if you want.”

Stiles gaped and Derek’s cheeks warmed. “You knit?” Derek shrugged. “Glass blowing. Knitting. What’s next? Flower arranging?” Derek opened his mouth, stopping when Stiles laid a hand over it. “No. Don’t ruin the mystery.” He barely got the last word out before breaking into giggles.

Setting the blanket aside, Stiles returned to the box. Most of the items were small knick-knacks, a couple of photos in frames of a young Claudia and John dressed up for some event or another, magazines that could probably be recycled. At the bottom of the box, Stiles movements stopped as he slowly removed a tissue paper wrapped item. Setting it in his lap, he peeled back the paper, smiling as the item was revealed. “The puzzle box,” he whispered.

“What?” Derek asked, leaning in and seeing a carved wooden box measuring about a foot square. Leaning closer, he squinted before reaching out and taking the box, surprised when Stiles didn’t stop him, but maybe he’d spotted what Derek had. 

“I remember this. My mom brought it home from work one day. She worked at the high school teaching science. She’d been heading to her car after work and saw a raccoon digging in the trash. When she scared it off, she saw it had been trying to get this box open. She said it was too beautiful to leave in the trash, so she cleaned it off and brought it home.” He ran his finger over the latches on the side. “We never could figure out how to open it.”

Derek was only half listening as he ran his fingers over the top, tracing the triskelion in the upper corner and moving down to the initials “T&N” in a decorative heart in the center. Instinctively, he moved his hand to the side and popped a claw, sliding it between the top and the bottom of the box at the silver latch. A metallic clack sounded and the lid slid off.

“What?” Stiles said, smiling as a stack of photos was revealed. “How?”

“It’s my parents’ wedding photos,” Derek said, his words tight as he fought against the tears, losing the battle as the first one fell on the top photo, one of Talia and Nathan Hale smiling at the camera and holding their signed wedding license between them.” Before Stiles’ natural curiosity could get the better of him, Derek shared the story that Peter had told him.

“What are the chances that my mom would find it?” Stiles asked as Derek flipped through the photos.

“Pretty good, I’d say,” Derek responded holding out a photo.

Stiles moved closer to Derek, laying his head on his shoulder and looking down at the photo. Two couples standing together, champagne glasses in their hands, heads thrown back in laughter. Derek’s mother had one arm looped through his father’s holding his glass, while the other was reached out and joined with Claudia Stilinski who leaned into John Stilinski, both of them dressed in the same clothing as the framed photo they had found in the larger box.

“Why didn’t my dad ever say anything?” Stiles wondered, reaching for his phone.

Derek stopped him with a hand over his. “Don’t. Not today. Today, let’s just sit here and remember them and be thankful for this unbelievable coincidence.”

“Not a coincidence. A miracle,” Stiles said, looking up at the tree topper just as the branches on the tree moved, reflecting red and green light off of the topper across the ceiling above their heads for just a moment. “A Christmas miracle.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr: josjournal
> 
> So, tomorrow's theme is "Christmas Movies" and I just have to ask: Is _Die Hard_ a Christmas movie?


End file.
